


The Dead Rise Only When Everyone Else is at Rest

by Grim Reaper Cultist (DeletedBecauseShy)



Series: Paranormal Slingphries [3]
Category: Kuroshitsuji : The Most Beautiful DEATH in the World - Iwasaki/Mori/Mari, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Depression, Gen, Ghosts, It’s not half as bad as the vore fic and even that one was fairly tame, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, Non-Graphic Smut, Paranormal, Superstition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28784433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeletedBecauseShy/pseuds/Grim%20Reaper%20Cultist
Summary: ~Eric woke knowing just how difficult it would be to get through the day to come. It was the eve of Alan’s death. The day always hit him hard.Whether it was forcing himself to buy flowers in tribute that reminded him so much of the man that was no missing from his life, or the looks people in the office gave him, he wasn’t sure.It was their seventh year apart. It hadn’t gotten much easier to get out of bed since the first day.~
Relationships: Alan Humphries/Eric Slingby
Series: Paranormal Slingphries [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075019
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. People Resting

**Author's Note:**

> This work is riddled with different superstitions! See how many you can find in this chapter!

Eric woke knowing just how difficult it would be to get through the day to come. It was the eve of Alan’s death. The day always hit him hard. 

Whether it was forcing himself to buy flowers in tribute that reminded him so much of the man that was no missing from his life, or the looks people in the office gave him, he wasn’t sure. 

It was their seventh year apart. It hadn’t gotten much easier to get out of bed since the first day. 

Still, he drags himself out from under the warmth of the blanket to get ready. 

Getting dressed is a brainless act. His muscle memory guides his actions. He has no say in what his body does while he’s standing in the closet. 

Making himself breakfast isn’t much harder. He cracks and whisks the eggs all but asleep on his feet. Toasting bread is the same. His hands push and pull the knife through bread easily, not even noticing the large air pocket inside. 

Then, there’s his morning tea. He prepares the pot, adds water, and waits. 

The waiting is difficult, it allows his mind to wander a bit too much. At least, until his man’s snaps back to reality at the call of the whistle. 

Pour water, add a tea bag, wait. There’s always more waiting. Splash of milk and finish with sugar. 

He’s not actually awake until he is long gone from his house. Already approaching the construction that he could’ve sworn had been there a year already. It’s a mild annoyance at best, the crew just always leaves their ladders up, forcing everyone his height and above to crouch under them uncomfortably. 

On the last corner, right in front of the dispatch building, is the strangely placed manhole that has blocked the entire walkway since long before he arrived. There’s paint and gum and rocks covering what he thinks was once the letter A. No one can really tell anymore. 

His desk is the same stark-white, barren room as usual. There are a few paint chips that he hasn’t bothered to report lining the walls, only one chunk of them are covered. The picture is large and panoramic, capturing the scene in great detail. 

He can still remember the day. Ron had invited him, Alan, and Grell out to one of the parties he was always disappearing to. While Grell was gone, they took the picture. The two wasted blonds smooshing into Alan on either side. 

On his desk, there’s stacks and stacks of papers he still hadn’t gotten around to reading and signing. Even with only one less officer at the dispatch, everyone’s workload increased noticeably; It was one of the cons of having a small team to begin with.

When he finally picks up his pen and resumes what he had done the day before. It’s long, repetitive, and tedious, just like it always is. 

When lunch comes around, he squeezes into a corner seat with some people he recognises but can’t name. They all give him the same pitying look. 

When he gets back to his small office, where he’s barely made a dent in the stacks upon stacks of papers littered around the room. 

After work, he goes to the same florist as always. He asks for whatever they still have in stock now that the wind is getting harsher and the snow more frequent. He leaves with bright yellow carnations. 

The walk back to his small apartment is the same as always. The tall, bland building reaching impossibly high and housing a majority of the Reaper population within its walls. 

The elevator ride to the 74th floor is as long a wait as always. Idly, he taps his foot to the music playing inside. 

From there, walking past 28 doors to the right gets him back to the familiar layout of the too-small space. 7456, it’s scarily high up and just as separate from the rest of the world. The window is still cracked open from the night prior. 

He sets out the flowers on the table, not bothering to find a fancy vase for something that never lasts long. 

As he’s digging through the fridge, a small moth flutters by. For a second, it lands lazily on the chair that was once Alan’s before continuing on. Finally, he gets a bottle from behind everything else and takes a small sip, it never does taste good. 

Near the chair in front of the TV, an assortment of bottles sits on the floor. That night, he adds three more. 

He heads to bed after the sun has long since disappeared from the bleak sky. His nails are bleeding around the edges from what his idle mind did for an ounce of stimulation. What is left, he trims short. 

It’s easier to hear the fan after he closes the door and windows. The room is devoid from any other source of noise. It’s the whirring that finally lulls him to sleep. 

He’s sleeping, and when people sleep, the dead can rise.


	2. Dead Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like before, see if you can spot all of the different superstitions and omens in this chapter. They’re only there briefly!

7/7/7/7/7/7/7

It’s dark.

It’s silent. 

It’s cold. 

Those are the three things Alan realises when he finally opens his eyes for the first time in....he doesn’t know. He tries to remember, he can’t. 

Something, something happened, he concludes. The dark feeling clawing at his gut says it was something bad. 

There’s a calendar on the wall, he realises. But, it looks like the wrong year. Wherever he is, they live a strange life. The room is filled with things and yet blank. Someone used to live there, it seems. But, they’ve been gone a while, years. There are personal items, they are covered in dust. Paintings on the walls are uncared for and crooked. On the table sits a bouquet of flowers...oh. Oh, that’s not good. 

Upon closer inspection, he recognises the flowers as carnations, yellow carnations. They mean rejection and disappointment. It makes sense, nothing in the house seems to be very happy. 

It’s a strange house, to begin with. It’s very high up, for one. But, it feels familiar. Not the place itself, no, it’s everything inside that fills him with nostalgia. 

Think, think, he pleads with himself, remember. Yet, all that comes back to him is a single number: 

7

He has no idea what it means. 

But, while he’s there, he could at least keep the flowers alive. Maybe someone will show up eventually, he reasons. But, it seems to be awfully late. When he’s about to put them into a shallow cup he had found on the floor and filled with water, he realises another thing about the bouquet. It has 13 flowers. 

It’s another bad omen. Looking around, he sees a lot of them. Some, he can brush off as coincidences; but, others? Whoever lived there was definitely strange. 

In an attempt to at help out, he opens the windows to try and urge a breeze to enter and clear the stuffy atmosphere. It doesn’t do much, but it’s not completely useless. 

Afterwards, all there is to do is wait. He considers possibly leaving a note but he can’t seem to find paper. 

His eyes wander over the calendar once again. The date feels familiar like it should be important to him. But, why? It’s not his birthday or death day. Nor is it Eric- his mind suddenly changes paths. 

Eric. Where was Eric? Is that what happened? What, why, how, questions circle through his head uncontrollably until suddenly-

They don’t. 

His mind and body are once again floating like they had before he had woken up in the strange house. Well, he thinks that’s what it felt like. He can’t seem to remember what it was like exactly. Actually, he can’t seem to remember anything. He can only think for a mere second before having to start over. 

There’s a feeling, deep in his chest, that he can’t put words to. Pain, he thinks, entrapment, maybe even grief. Once again, he just knows that something bad has happened. 

7/7/7/7/7/7/X

When Eric awakes, he can feel something is off. It’s far too cool. His house is never filled with a cool breeze, why was it different this morning? 

Leaving his small bedroom, he sees why. The windows that he had closed were now open wide. 

Furthermore, the flowers he had left out were sitting in an empty bottle that someone had filled with water. 

At first, he assumes it had been another one of his weird drunken movements from the night prior. But, it couldn’t have been. He hadn’t drunk nearly enough and there were no new bottles lying scattered around the floor. 

It’s an intruder then, a burglar or something! It explains the open windows, but the flowers? Plus, when he takes a quick look around, nothing had been stolen from his house. 

Deciding not to think of it any further, he heads to the office; he takes the same path as the day before. 

7/7/7/7/7/7/X

It’s around the time he would normally retire when he remembers the strange event from earlier in the morning. Still not wanting to think about it too much, he jogs down a simple note before finally laying down to sleep. 

7/7/7/7/7/7/X

Alan’s eyes open to the sight of the same strange room. Still, his memories of what happened prior elude him. But, there’s the same sinking feeling of something bad. 

His surroundings are the same as they had been before aside from a few extra bottles and a note. 

‘This is private property. Leave now or I will call the police. Whatever it is you must’ve stole last night, I want it returned.’ It's written in sharp, scrawling, black letters. Something about it feels familiar. 

Before he can try and remember, his eyes hone in on the pen left beside the paper. He couldn’t find it before; now, it’s right in front of him. 

‘I’m sorry’ he writes in a smooth cursive. ‘I’m afraid I don’t exactly know how I ended up here the day before. Or, now. I promise I’ll be gone as soon as I can figure everything out.’ He debates signing it before deciding against leaving his name on something so incriminating. 

Then, like before, he lets his eyes wander. The calendar is set to the same month, there are no new flowers. But, he does have time to finally look closely at the pictures hanging on the walls. 

It’s Eric, he realises. But, he’s not in very many. It’s mostly Ron and Grell. Eric’s not in a single one. At least, not one he can see. Quite a few of them are turned face down, hidden. 

He’s considering a flipping one over when his body goes numb for a brief second. The next second slips away as well. There’s black, then nothing. 

7/7/7/7/7/X/X

When Eric wandered towards the note during his morning routine, he’s surprised to see that someone else had written on it. Though, it’s not the most shocking thing he notices. No, that would be the handwriting itself. 

The neat cursive is a combination of sharp points and gentle curves. But, most of all, it’s painfully familiar. There’s note scattered all around his small loft that had been written by the same hand, Alan’s. 

He died, his mind repeats. You're crazy, it says. Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone. You couldn’t save him, not from the thorns, not from the demon, you couldn’t save him. 

“I tried.” He speaks to the air, willing any force in the world to help him. “I did my best.” I loved him, he doesn’t say. 

Eric doesn’t go to work that day. He just stays home, waiting. 

7/7/7/7/7/X/X

It’s long since sunset when the gentle breeze begins to blow through the window. Midnight is quickly approaching, it’s getting to be an unreasonably late hour for Eric to be awake. 

Just another minute, he promises him else, just one more. His eyes slip closed without him even noticing. 

7/7/7/7/7/X/X

Alan’s eyes open once again in the small kitchen. Little has changed, nothing spare an extra plate in the sink and more bottles on the carpet. 

That, and the body on the couch. His legs carry him towards his absentmindedly. Past the photos of his friends and the between the glasses on the floor. 

Eric. 

It’s Eric! 

He can’t help but shake the man awake gently, begging silently to see his eyes once more. Whatever god is watching over him at the moment is merciful, it grants his wish a moment later. 

7/7/7/7/X/X/X

The eyes that look into his own aren’t ones that Eric had seen before. They’re distinctly mortal in a way he doesn’t often see outside of his work. 

In their realm, the glowing green light is something you get used to seeing quickly. Not seeing it is strange. 

Where his mind expects a phosphorus green colour, a dark emerald colour sits instead. Soft lashes fan out from the delicate eyes before him. 

Whoever it is backs up slowly when he realises he’s awake. When he can see the man’s whole face, Alan grins up at him. 

Alan, with his usual mess of brown curls and new, dark, emerald eyes. Alan’s human eyes, he realises. They’re so, pretty, beautiful, elegant even. He can think of a lot of words, none of which Acura you describe the situation. 

“How...” he whispers to the younger man in front of him. “How are you here? It is you, right Al’?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” A wide smile cracks across his face. “I’m just so happy, Eric. I’d explain but I don’t even know myself. When I try to think of why I’m here, all I can remember is the number seven.” 

“You don’t need to know, darling. All that matters is that you’re here now, right?” Eric is almost crying from sheer joy in the moment. For a second, it all seems like too much to handle. When his eyes happen to look over at the clock, he can’t even be worried about sleeping in the next day. 12:05 isn’t important, all that matters to him is that Alan is back. “How long have you been... visiting?” He asks. 

It takes Alan a second to think before he answers. “This is the third time now. It’s weird. After a while I just-“ he never gets to finish the thought. Halfway through, he vanishes once again. 

“Alan!” Eric calls out loudly. “Alan!” He tries again. Through the tears growing in his eyes, he can see the current time: 12:07. Alan had only been with him for around seven minutes before he disappeared again. 

But, he reassured himself, his love had appeared before. All he had to do was wait another day. Yeah, Alan would be back, he always is. 

7/7/7/7/X/X/X

When Eric is forced to open his eyes to the rising sun, it’s easier to do than it had been in months. There’s a smile playing at his lips at the memory of the previous night, it’s enough to get him out of bed. 

From there, his schedule changes. He abandons his normal breakfast in favour of something better. It doesn’t take him much longer than normal to whip up a more traditional meal. 

From then on, everything runs smoothly, his clothes are wrinkle-free right off the hangar, his phone is fully charged, the whole morning is going well. 

The only bad thing that happens is, as he’s just about to leave, he accidentally kicks over one of the bottles on the floor, breaking it slightly. It’s nothing too bad, not nearly bad enough to ruin his morning. 

On his way to the office, he takes a different route. Cutting through a small park, everything seems brighter. There are ladybugs flying around in the grass, a few small goldfish in the pond, acorns litter the grass, he even sees a rabbit briefly hop across the path. 

When he’s finally close to the office, he’s on the opposite side of the road, avoiding the everlasting construction and strangely places pothole with ease. Once he actually crosses over, there’s another thing that catches his eye. Right in front of the door, a penny lies face up as if it had been waiting for him. 

Finally sitting down, his eyes narrow in on an old picture of him and Alan together. It’s just the two of them, back to the park. He can remember it, it had been a fun day. 

7/7/7/7/X/X/X

Once he gets home, it’s a game of patience. A very, very long game of patience. He has over six hours to go until midnight, plenty of time to waste. 

He spends it cleaning, sweeping the dust away from the entry mainly. It’s surprising to see just how much dust and dirt he tracks in every day. 

Afterwards, he stops by the kitchen for a small snack, five hours left. He grabs a peach. From there, a nap. 

Napping is usually easy. Except that at some point a cricket had snuck in only to make as much noise as possible. He gets to sleep eventually, waiting out the last few hours in blissful unconsciousness. 

7/7/7/X/X/X/X

Alan’s eyes open slowly once more. Though, now, Eric is there to greet him in the kitchen. 

The older man almost crushes him in the hug before peppering kisses around his face and neck softly. “I knew you’d come back.” He whispers in Alan’s ear breathily. “You always do.” 

They stand like that for a minute, just resting in each other’s arms. When Alan finally pushes him off, it’s only to be able to see his face in full. “I missed you too.” Eric clings to him tighter. “What exactly happened last night?” 

Finally, Eric backs away slowly to look at him. “I don’t know, Al’, I don’t know. All of a sudden, you were just gone. Looked at the clock and it was 12:07. Could be that’s what the seven you keep thinking about means, how much time you have and all.” While he talks, he manoeuvres them both towards the couch, finishing his thought just as he sits down. 

“Yeah, could be. Or I also noticed that it’s been seven years. Maybe even both.” In the next second, Eric is trapping him between his body and the seat cushions to nibble on his skin lightly. “Stop it...” He moans out weakly, it’s a lie, they both know it. “We still need to figure out what’s actually going on and-“ he stops abruptly when Eric moves to his ear. 

“Which we will,” The other man drew out the words seductively. “After this.” He continues to lick and bite over his lover’s skin before finally moving his hands lower to slip under the man’s shirt. “I mean, what else is there to know. Seven years, seven minutes-“ it’s Eric’s turn to be cut off when Alan sits up abruptly, knocking him to the side in the process. 

“Seven days. Eric,” he looks over sadly. “What if there are only seven days. I’m already running out of time today in this is the fourth time.” His thoughts are cut short when Eric brings their lips together once again. It only lasts a handful of seconds before he’s gone again. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll wait, Alan. I’ll always wait for you.” He says into the blank space surrounding him. 

7/7/X/X/X/X/X

“Oh, Alan.” Eric is the first one to speak when he finally appears again the next night. Like before, he traps them both in a tight embrace the second the other man’s emerald eyes open. 

His day had been boring, the entire time spent looking forward to seeing Alan once again. Though, the thought that they may only have one more night left to meet lurked like a shadow in his brain. “I’ve been thinking,” he spoke directly into Alan’s lips. “If you’re right about the seven-day thing, we have to make these last two really count.” 

There’s a chuckle between them follows by a mutual smile. “Are you saying this isn’t enough already?” Alan whispers as his mouth moves down Eric’s jaw slowly. 

“Not at all, love,” he has to speak slowly, “not at all.”

“Good. Because I have my own plans for what little time we do have.” Eric could barely think before Alan was pressing up even closer to him. He can feel teeth and lips on his neck all the way down to his collarbone before everything really starts to speed up. 

“I think I like these plans.” It’s the last thing he can really remember doing before Alan is on him like an animal, snaking his hands all around his body, leaving long red lines trailing from his nails. 

When Alan finally leaves again, Eric is in a much different state than he had been. His shirt is on the floor, revealing the wide expanse of reddening skin. There is no cloth to cover the bruises and bite marks he can feel blooming on his neck already. 

Patience is a virtue, one of the only virtues Eric has time for at the moment. 

7/X/X/X/X/X/X

Alan’s eyes open slowly on the sixth night, his body is still sore from the one prior. Like before, Eric is sitting in the kitchen with him. 

This time, with a table between them, filled with plates and drinks Eric had already prepared for the two of them. “Join me for dinner?” He says slyly. 

“I’d love to, Eric.” He laughs slightly at how serious the whole thing looked even if it was set up in the small walkway that separates the house’s kitchen from the main room. “But I think you already knew that.” He adds before picking up a fork. 

They eat in a relatively silent state, just enjoying the other’s presence. There are a few flirtatious remarks from Eric but they’re few and far between. In comparison, Alan doesn’t talk much. He’s too focused on eating quickly enough. Though, he does take a break to try the multitude of drinks Eric had left out in a variety of glasses. 

When he finally finishes, he speaks softly. “Are you ready?” He asks, “for tomorrow?” 

Eric takes a second to respond. “If you’re talking about losing you,” he starts, “then no. I’m never ready to lose you again.” When he looks up, Alan is already gone. 

Seven more minutes. 

That’s all the time they have left. Eric had just under 24 hours to get his thoughts together in time. 

X/X/X/X/X/X/X

Eric finally feels ready a minute before the clock is set to chime. Over the day, he had laid out and organised everything he wanted, needed, to say to Alan before he left. If they had been wrong and Alan would come back the next day, it would be amazing. But Eric knew not to hope for too much, especially not when numbers were involved. His soul was still heavy with the added weight of a thousand others. 

But, when Alan finally appeared for the last time, his resolved steeled in an instant. The small box in his pocket began to feel less like a molten amalgamation or his failure and more like a bundle of his future promises. 

He gives the younger man a second to orient himself before pecking him lightly on the cheek. A soft chuckles echos throwing the room like an angel’s choir. 

“Alan Humphries,” he falls gently to one knee. “Will you make these last few minutes together even better, as my fiancé?” He opens the box swiftly, revealing the sterling silver band within. It’s simple, save for the engravings on both sides. 

On the outside, miniature flowers and stems twist around and around infinitely. There are roses, lilies, and daisies all bloom from different stems, entwined together until they become indistinguishable from the others. 

On the inside, only a few words are scrawled into the otherwise-flawless metal. The light and flowing cursive is easy to read despite its intricacies. Not even death shall separate us, it reads. 

“Absolutely,” his boyfriend, no, fiancé, says breathily. When Eric slips the ring onto his finger gently, he speaks again louder. “I love you too, Eric, forever.” 

They meet in the middle for a gentle, meaningful kiss, joining together until their lungs hurt for air and then some. When Alan finally does pull away, he pushes into Eric’s chest, breathing in his lover’s scent in the hope it will last forever when his body returns once again to the void. 

X/X/X/X/X/X/X

Alan tries to memorise exactly how the weight of Eric’s arms and hands feel on his back, how his body feels when they’re pressed together. 

But, it doesn’t last forever. Nothing ever truly does in Alan’s life. It’s something he had long since accepted; he was destined to lose, in life and death alike. 

Eventually, he can feel the darkness tug at his body and soul alike, pulling him back into nothingness. When he finally succumbs, it’s with one final kiss and a small smile. “Goodbye, Eric.”

X/X/X/X/X/X/X

Eric doesn’t know how to feel when his fiancé leaves for the last time. The sense of fulfilment at finally being able to say goodbye clashes with the overwhelming depression of losing Alan for a second time in seven years. The clash leaves him feeling empty, hollow. 

His thoughts crash against his mind like waves for the remainder of the night, never quieting down. When he finally falls asleep, it’s unsatisfying and restless. Like the days before he had seen Alan again, he wakes up feeling empty. His sun is gone yet again. There is no ray of light to pull him out of the darkness any longer. 

Eric woke knowing how difficult it would be to get through the day to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The list of all the Easter eggs is in the comments, check it out! That’s all, I hope you enjoyed this piece ~<3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! How many different superstitions did you find? The answer key is in the comments! For more of me, head on over to my Kuro fandom blog on Tumblr for more of my stuff [Shinigami Dispatch Association ](https://shinigami-dispatch-association.tumblr.com/) ~<3


End file.
